


Day 14: Reverence

by ofplanet_earth



Series: 30 days of Barduil [14]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard loves to watch Thranduil fight, Battle, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Thranduil needs to make sure Bard is okay, some wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When orcs threaten the newly-rebuilt city of Dale, they don't expect to be met with an allied army of elves and men. Bard and Thranduil lead their united kingdoms to victory and find each other in the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 14: Reverence

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous requested a battle, careful touches, awe, and reverent smut.

Bard stole a glance across the battlefield. Thranduil fought amidst a swarm of orcs, surrounded on nearly all sides, but Bard knew how capable he was. He held both his swords in a firm grip, letting out a cry as he slew three orcs with a single blow.  
 This was not the first time he’d caught a glimpse of the Elvenking’s ferocity, and he doubted it would be the last. Packs of orcs had been crossing their lands, coming from the north and the south and the east without direction or care. The people of the Long Lake and the elves of the Woodland Realm had been united under one banner for some years now, and their enemies were all met with an army greater than any in Rhovanion.

It was a strange thing, to delight in the clashing of swords and the thrill of a victory well- earned, but there it was. Bard stood with the stone wall of the city’s perimeter at his back and allowed himself a moment to stare. Thranduil raged on, his movements fluid, expert and precise as orcs fell around him. 

But there would be time to admire his king after the last orc had fallen. Bard surged forward, driving his sword between crude plates of armour and slashing throats as he made is way toward the heart of the fight. Not so long ago, he had fought a war with chainmail as his only defence and survived. Now he wore the finest elvish armour and swung the fiercest sword ever wielded by the race of man. Not so long ago he’d been a simple bargeman. Now he was a king, and he rallied his people against any evil that dared to cross their path.

It was a short battle, in the end. The orcs had no leader to follow and so had quickly descended into chaos in the face of a unified force. When the sun had set the allied army returned to the city where elven healers had begun mending wounds. Bard continued on towards his own chambers. His wounds were superficial— though one or two blows had landed their mark, his armour was made of more hardy things than simple orcish steel.

Thranduil was there already when he arrived, the butler he’d come to know as Galion aiding him in removing his breastplate. Bard began to remove his own armour, though it was nearly as complicated as the Elvenking’s and he knew he’d need help with it before he could lie down and rest. 

Galion was dismissed with a wave of Thranduil’s arm soon enough. The elf bowed and closed the heavy doors, leaving the two kings to their own devices. Thranduil crossed the room to stand before Bard and began to work on the fastenings of his vambrace. His gaze was focused on Bard’s face, still glossed with sweat and flushed from such fierce activity. Thranduil looked as composed as ever. “You fought well today,” he said, and moved to Bard’s other arm. 

“I managed not to get killed, though I suppose I have the fine work of your kin to thank for that.” 

“You have yourself to thank as much as any craftsman or metalworker. You should not undersell your talents so.” 

“I have little talent of my own, but I did learn from the best,” Bard said, and watched as Thranduil’s stony face slid into a teasing smirk.

“You did.” He agreed and moved his attention to the finely detailed scales that covered Bard’s shoulders. His armour had been modelled after the dragon Smaug and, though it gave Bard chills to see, it was sure to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies.

“You were a vision on the battlefield, My King.” Bard’s tone was teasing but his words rang true.

“And you are a natural wordsmith as much as you are a swordsman,” Thranduil removed Bard’s breastplate and backplate as Bard laughed. He stretched then, rolling his shoulders and his neck to soothe the ache of them.

“You wound me,” Bard teased. Thranduil made quick work of the remainder of his armour, setting it aside so that Bard could peel his tunic and undershirt over his shoulders. 

“It would seem my wounds are not the ones you carry with you,” Thranduil’s eyes had gone dark and his hands were cool against Bard’s heated skin. “You’ve been hurt.” 

“Scratches, really.” Bard waved his hand dismissively. Thranduil paid him no mind however, stepping around him to inspect the state of Bard’s back. Soft fingers ghosted over the tender blade of his shoulder, drawing a hiss from Bard’s moth. “I’ll be fine.” 

“You are not invincible, even guarded by the scales of a dragon. You ought to be more careful.”  
 “I am as careful as I can be,” Bard caught Thranduil’s hand and turned to face him. 

“And yet you are still injured.” The Elvenking’s expression was as far as it could be from the unreadable mask Bard had seen when first they met. He could see the countless years, the sorrow and the worry writ in the shade of his eyes and the curve of his lips. Bard stretched up on his sore legs to press a kiss there, hoping to ease his concern, or else distract him from it.

His affections were not turned away, but Thranduil would not be distracted. “So fragile you are, meleth- nín.” 

“And yet you love me still? Even in the face of such weakness?” 

“I do. I Love you as I vowed to before your people and mine. But do not mistake me, King of Dale. You have a strength in you even I do not possess. You are fragile, but you are not so easily broken.” 

“But rather easily wounded, it would seem” 

“Yes. Which is why you should be more careful.” 

Bard laughed again and pulled Thranduil close, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles and bruised skin. “Perhaps I should. But perhaps I enjoy you fretting over me.” 

“Then you are cruel to us both.”

Bard laughed again and led Thranduil toward the bed, large and soft and worlds away from the pressed earth of the battlefield. The Elvenking followed him, looking as though he wanted to protest but could not find the will to do so. 

Bard peeled the tunic from Thranduil's body. Gone was the lethal force Bard had seen him unleash in battle; all that remained were his otherworldly grace and a gentle smile. His skin appeared smooth and unmarred, even in spite of the horrors he had seen. Bard knew they had both faced down the wrath and fire of a dragon; that Thranduil had not been lucky enough to escape unscathed. Those memories were kept far from the surface but Bard could see the ever- present weight of them.

“I could watch you fight all day,” Bard sat on the bed while Thranduil stood before him, pulled him close by his hips and used his mouth to trace the lithe muscles of his abdomen. “Do you know what it does to me, seeing you like that? All valour and vengeance and burning rage?” 

“Indeed,” Thranduil’s voice rumbled through his chest as Bard reached his breastbone. “I seem to recall having a similar conversation the last time orcs tried to lay waste to our city.” Bard hummed and parted his lips from Thranduil’s skin. 

“Our city?” He pressed his chin to the centre of The Elvenking’s chest and smiled as he looked upon him. 

“Is that not the truth?” Thranduil combed the hair back from Bard’s face. 

“Aye. It pleases me to hear you say so is all.” 

“Then I am glad,” Thranduil leaned down to reach Bard’s lips and urge him further back on the bed. “I live to please you, My Lord.” He settled Bard amongst the pillows— modest when compared to Thranduil’s own yet still more luxurious than anything Bard had slept on all his life— and began to press kisses along the edges of bruises and scrapes. 

His aches and hurts soon faded under the attentions of the Elvenking’s lips and tongue. By the time his mouth had reached the waist of his leggings Bard had nearly forgotten there had been any battle at all. Thranduil’s hands were deft at his laces and cool when they found the skin of his legs. 

“Do you feel well enough?” Thranduil’s words might have been light and teasing, but the concern in his eyes echoed his tone. Bard could only nod breathlessly in response and wait as Thranduil took his time kissing his thighs. He watched as Thranduil leaned to the table beside the bed, retrieving the oil they kept there for just this purpose. 

“Will you tell me if it is too much?” 

Bard nodded again, more urgently this time as Thranduil’s slick fingers drew ever closer to where he wanted them. He could not imagine Thranduil’s touch would ever be too much— that he could ever stop craving _more_ — but he made this promise all the same.  
 The oil eased the way, but Thranduil’s first finger left him gasping, whining, and digging his fingers into the Elvenking’s shoulders. His lover was thorough, gentle and slow and Bard could barely contain himself. He urged his hips back and pleaded with breathless words, but Thranduil would not be dissuaded. He added his second finger only when Bard felt himself relax around him and began the slow and torturous process anew.

Bard was boneless when Thranduil finally pulled his fingers away. He lay there, pliant as Thranduil lifted his hips off the bed to meet his own; open and ready as the hard press of his cock nudged at his entrance. It would do no good to rush, no good to beg, and so he simply held on to Thranduil as he sank slowly inside.

“You are precious to me,” The words were whispered against Bard’s ear. “More precious than power or gold, more beautiful than any jewel in all of Arda. Tell me you know this,” His voice was pleading and his face was desperate when Bard opened his eyes. 

“I know this.” He gasped and groaned as Thranduil began to move inside him, the slow drag of his cock burning and building and tearing him apart from within. “You are magnificent. My light, my star. My love,”

Thranduil nearly came undone at the sound of his words. Bard watched the pleasure wash over his face as his hips drove him deeper. He devoured the sounds that fell from his mouth as Bard reached up to grasp his neck and pull himself upright. He perched himself atop Thranduil’s thighs, still firmly seated on the Elvenking’s cock. He kissed him then, deep and hungry. Thranduil gripped his arse and lifted him up, only to guide him back down and force a whimper from Bard’s throat.

Thranduil swallowed it and every sound he made, moving his hand between their bodies to wrap around Bard’s neglected cock. The oil- slicked drag was enough to drive Bard to shout against Thranduil’s open mouth. 

“Come,” he said. “Let yourself go and know that I will catch you.” 

Bard did. He had no choice. He held Thranduil close with arms clasped tightly around his neck, the sound of his love’s name upon his parted lips.

**Author's Note:**

> got a fic idea?[submit an ask](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll add it to the list!  
> I like to tag [inspiration](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/30-days-of-barduil).  
> you can keep track of my word count on my [novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/ofplanet-earth/novels/30-days-of-barduil) or on my [tumblr](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/nanowrimo).


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